The Hunter
by the-megalodon
Summary: Daryl and Carol grow closer, and their friendship threatens to become something more. Set after Season 3, Daryl's POV. My vision of the evolution of their relationship. This story is going to be a slow burn, just like them. Rated for probable later content.
1. Dressings

Daryl crouched in the dying light, tracing the hoof print with his fingers. It had been raining for ten days, and when the sun had cracked the clouds this morning, Daryl had practically hopped the fence in his eagerness to escape the prison. The fact that the meat from his last hunt had run out two days ago, leaving the group to subsist on canned food that he could barely keep down, had spurred him deeper into the woods than he had previously ventured on foot.

The print was fresh – it had to be – and given its size and the depth of the press, he figured it was a buck, the largest one he'd seen in weeks. His mouth watered at the prospect, although the journey home carrying something that size was daunting.

He rose slightly out off of his haunches and followed the trail forward. Autumn was fast approaching – the days of easy summer tracking would soon be long gone. Once the leaves started falling in earnest, trails would be obscured almost as soon as they were laid down. To make matters worse, game was getting scarcer, and those animals that remained were getting craftier. Those that were able – squirrels, birds, possums – were learning quickly to stay off the ground, out of reach of the shuffling, grasping walkers below. They were still no match for the living – Daryl had four squirrels dangling from his back even now – but it meant they left no tracks, no trails. And the remainder of the forest-dwellers – those who couldn't escape to the relative safety of the trees – had learned to zig-zag or loop around the forest, never walking in a straight line for long. Even now, the trail Daryl followed veered sharply to the left for no apparent reason; the creature was simply trying to make itself harder to follow. Some of them – this animal included, if the smell that was growing more potent was any indication – had even taken to rolling in the decomposing remains of fallen walkers, effectively camouflaging themselves from the dead that remained.

Daryl had to admit, it was impressive. Life found its ways of continuing. It had been a long time since people needed to be as fluid, as changing, as the animals they ate. But they were holding their own.

There was a rustling from above and Daryl downed another squirrel, quickly retrieving it and tying it into place beside the others. A few weeks ago, five squirrels would have been enough, but with the arrival of the Woodbury group, they had been burning through supplies more rapidly than anyone could have anticipated. Daryl was finding it difficult to warm to them, and not just because he recognized every third face as someone who had been chanting for his blood when the Governor pitted him against his brother.

The Woodbury residents were soft. Some were young, some were old, some were close to his own age, but very few had been exposed to the harshness of the new world. They had been coddled in Woodbury. Daryl had little patience for it. Spending the winter on the road had toughened up even the weakest members of the original Atlanta group. They had all lost people. They had all gone without food, shelter, water, rest. Some of the people at Woodbury had spent time outside its walls, but most of them had been inside long enough to grow complacent.

Even though he trusted the group implicitly, unquestionably, Daryl had never allowed himself to relax. Letting your guard down, getting soft, was the surest way to get yourself killed. Merle had taught him that.

_Merle._ That was a can of worms Daryl didn't dare open. He had mourned his brother; lying on his back amidst the dead and the walking, he had shed tears for Merle. But the last thing his brother would have wanted was for Daryl to stall, to give up and lie curled up in a cell like a baby.

_C'mon Darlina, kick you're sorry ass in gear. That dear ain't gonna track hisself._

Daryl smirked to himself as the trail veered sharply to the right. He knew it would be a long time before Merle's voice faded from his mind. Part of him hoped it never would. His brother had been an asshole – Daryl would be the first to admit it – but he had loved him all the same. And Merle had died proving himself to the group. He had given them a chance.

"_He gave us a chance," Carol said, offering Daryl her hand. He clasped it and hoisted himself up. She squeezed his fingers once, prolonging their contact. They released their grips at the same time._

The trail turned again and Daryl sighed. Much further and he would have to give this buck up as a lost cause. Even with all the zigzagging he was getting too far from home base; the angle of the sun told him that if he kept at it much longer the sky would darken before he could reach the safety of the prison fences. He could take care of himself – the walkers were thinning out as they picked off more and more and the area surrounding the prison began to reek of decay – but he knew they would worry: Rick, Hershel, Carol –

He stopped dead, listening. Distantly he heard moaning, as familiar as the wind through the trees. He held his breath and then –

Yes, he had definitely heard a twig snap. There was a rustling ahead of him and he took careful, silent aim, waiting.

After a few heartbeats, the buck's head came into view, jaw working on whatever he had just pulled up from the ground. Exactly one heartbeat later, the buck's heart was silenced by Daryl's bow, the bolt protruding from the creature's eye.

Daryl approached, moving more easily than he had been, but still careful to move silently. The animal was huge, and Daryl blinked at it for a moment. It was going to be a very long walk home. With a sigh, he pulled some twine from his bag and tied the buck's feet together before slinging the animal over his shoulders like some kind of morbid purse. Once it was secure, he turned on his heel, ignoring his own tracks in favor of walking a straight line into the sun. Due West. Toward home.

The burden of the deer slowed him; the sun was dipping below the horizon when he reached the first gate. Carl was there, with Glenn; after a few minutes of banging on fences the way was cleared and Daryl darted inside the gate. Both Carl and Glenn gaped at Daryl's prize.

With a curt nod toward the pair, Daryl started up the path toward the prison proper. Rick was in the yard with Judith, and spared Daryl a wave before returning to the task of trying to get his daughter to sit up on her own.

Inside, the prison was cool and quiet. Daryl made a beeline for the kitchen, intent on dropping his catch and then bolting to his cell for a quick nap before dinner.

But when he arrived, Carol was alone at the sink, humming to herself as the washed the dishes, dried them, and stacked them up for reuse. Daryl grunted in greeting. Carol turned over her shoulder and her eyes widened at the size of the buck.

"A few more runs like this and we'll be set for the winter," she said appreciatively. Daryl shrugged in response. Carol's hands did not falter in their work as she smiled.

"Ya still wanna learn to prep a kill?" Daryl asked. She nodded.

"Two minutes and I'll be done with these plates," she said quickly.

True to her word, Carol dried the last plate and set it aside only a few moments later. But it was enough time to set Daryl's foot tapping against the concrete floor. She wiped her hands on the apron she was wearing and crossed to where Daryl had flopped the deer and the squirrels on an empty expanse of countertop.

Wordlessly, Daryl handed her a knife and hoisted the deer up on his shoulders once again.

"Maybe I should start with a squirrel?" Carol said uncertainly. "I don't want to mess anything up."

"Naw," Daryl shrugged again. "He's already dead. A little poking can't hurt 'im. 'N' everythin's easier to spot when it's bigger.

She nodded and he jerked his head toward one of the three pantries the kitchen afforded. As soon as they had settled in, Daryl had claimed the small room as a dressing station. He slung the buck up by the antlers, wrapping a rope around its head to hold it secure, and fastening each of the hooves to ropes that ran from the shelves. After a few moments of grunting, the animal was suspended from the ceiling, its white belly exposed to them.

Daryl pointed at three buckets stacked in the corner, and Carol fetched them to him. The largest he placed beneath the animal, and set the other two aside. He unclipped his knife and rubbed his forehead, trying to harken back to the first time field dressing had been explained to him. Merle hadn't been the most eloquent teacher; he favored demonstration and repetition over speeches. Daryl pursed his lips at the memory; when the Dixon brothers were younger, Merle had been quiet and shrinking, more like Daryl than any of the group realized. Over the years, he slowly developed the bluster and blow to which they were accustomed until the two brothers hardly seemed to have anything in common.

Daryl glanced sidelong at Carol. She was looking at him expectantly, and he cleared his throat.

"First, we gotta gut 'im. 'S the messiest part." He twirled his knife expertly and approached the buck, Carol close on his heels.

"Th' first cut is the hardest, 'cause it's gotta be shallow." He placed the tip of his knife point at the animal's pelvis, allowing just the knife point to push through the hide and the thin membrane below.

"Start at the bottom and cut up. 'S easier not to cut through somethin'. If you get it wrong, you'll know right quick 'cause you'll be up to your knees in guts." The first cut complete, Daryl reached inside the creature's stomach, pulling out it's rope-like intestines.

"Pull these out first. Get 'em out as far as you can before you cut 'em off the spine. C'mere, help me."

Carol appeared next to him, plunging her hand inside the belly with barely a grimace and pulling out a handful of guts. They pulled them out, hand over hand, until most of the length was freed. Daryl pulled Carol in front of him, his chest pressed to her back and his mouth next to her ear. With his hands on her wrists he guided her inside to the spine.

"Here's his spine," he murmured. "And here's where the guts is attached." He moved her hand over to the bundles of nerves that connected the intestines to the spinal column.

"You gotta be delicate, cause if you cut his guts open by mistake, the meat might get spoilt." He pulled her right hand out along with his own, and pressed a small knife into it before guiding her back inside. She was hesitant but precise, and the intestines flopped the rest of the way into the bucket with a squelch.

"Now we gotta sever 'em and get 'em out completely," he said, guiding her hands again. "You pinch 'em here, near the end and cut 'em, then pull 'em out and tie 'em off." She did as instructed her hands emerging red and glistening as she handed the end to Daryl who tied it off expertly and let it drop.

"Same thing on the other end. Careful of the stomach." Their hands entered and emerged from the creature's belly, pulling out the intestines, stomach, colon, windpipe, bladder, lungs and diaphragm and discarding them.

"Heart's next," he grunted. The ball of muscle was pulled forth and he gestured to one of the smaller buckets off to the side, Carol tossed it in, followed by the kidneys, and then the liver.

"Liver goes in the other bucket." He gestured. "Liver's always good. Gotta check the heart and kidneys an' make sure ain't nothin' wrong with 'em 'fore you cook 'em." Carol nodded.

"If we had water to spare, we'd rinse 'im. But it ain't worth it. Now we skin 'im."

He moved around to the back of the animal and Carol followed.

"Start here," he pressed his knife through the skin just below the base of the skull. "Then cut around to the front, where he's already split." He handed her the knife and she mirrored his cut on the other side of the animal's neck.

"Good. Now split up his legs, and around the joint." He split the skin along the inside of the animal's leg, drawing a small circle around the joint midway down. He handed Carol the knife and she did the same for the remaining leg.

"Alright. Now we pull."

He hooked his fingers under the skin at the base of the animal's skull, watching as Carol did the same.

"You gotta pull hard," he said. She nodded.

"One, two – "

On three they both wrenched down, peeling the skin off and exposing the buck's red muscles as they went. Carol did fine; Daryl only needed to pause in his progress twice to allow her to catch up. When the creature's skin was dangling at its ankles, Daryl nodded and they severed it. Daryl grabbed it before it fell into the bucket of organs and set it aside.

"We can tan that. Could be good come winter."

"What do we do with this?" Carol asked, indicating the bucket of blood and discarded organs.

"Save it." Carol quirked a brow at him and he shrugged.

"I use it when I'm huntin'. Drive out somewhere a distance from where I'm headin' and dump 'em. The smell draws the walkers. Gives me a little peace while I'm out."

"That's smart," she said, impressed. Daryl shrugged again.

They pulled the deer down and toted him back to the kitchen to be chopped up. About six Woodbury residents were milling about now, clearly intending to help with dinner. One elderly woman bit back a gasp when she saw them emerge, covered in blood. All of them avoided Daryl's eyes.

Carol nodded at one of them, a dark-haired young woman.

"Karen, would you mind getting a start on dinner? I'm going to go get cleaned up."

The woman nodded, her eyes darting to Daryl and then back to her hands.

Daryl took a step toward the door and they all jumped. They were afraid of him. A few had the decency to look sheepish, but one or two looked at him with open hostility. Daryl bristled.

Carol, perhaps sensing his mood, grabbed his hand and towed him out of the kitchen, toward the showers. After a moment, he pulled his hand away, but followed behind nonetheless.

When they reached the showers, Daryl relaxed minutely. It was quiet and cool in the large communal bathroom, removed as it was from the main areas. Carol crossed to one of the sinks, draping her apron across it before turning to another to wash her hands. Daryl skipped the sink in favor of the shower; the blood had just covered the layer of mud and dirt he always accumulated while hunting. He needed a proper wash. He glanced at Carol, busy at the sink with her back to him, before pulling off his vest and the Henley beneath. His undershirt was next, and as it dropped to the floor he heard a small gasp. He whirled around, and his eyes locked with Carol's in the mirror. He realized with a flare of panic that she had never seen his scars. They were so comfortable with each other in every other way, he had honestly forgotten.

"Daryl," she murmured, turning to face him. He suppressed a snarl, feeling trapped and exposed. "Who-?"

"Don't matter," he hissed through his teeth reaching for his clothes and pulling his shirt back on hastily. "I'll come back later."

"Daryl, wait-!" But he was already gone, jogging to his cell. He whipped his clothes across the tiny room and sat down heavily on his bunk, head in his hands. He struggled to control his breathing.

_Let your guard down, brother. Ain't I always told you never to trust no one but your blood?_

Daryl groaned. Merle was half wrong, he knew. Blood or not, these people were his family. But he had let his guard down, and chances were good when he looked at Carol he would see nothing but pity in her eyes. He hated pity. It made him feel small. He rolled back onto his bunk, throwing one arm over his eyes.

He must have slept, because the next thing he knew, he was being awakened by a hand on his shoulder, and a quiet voice.

"Daryl?"

His hand shot out reflexively to wrench the hand away. Only when he was sitting halfway up, blinking sleep away did he realize it was Carol's wrist he had clenched in his fist. He released her immediately.

"Whaddaya want?"

"I –" Carol twiddled her thumbs nervously. Daryl felt impatience swell in his chest.

"Ya what?"

She sighed and glanced behind her at the curtain pulled across the cell entrance. There was a candle burning, Daryl realized. She must have lit it.

Without warning, she pulled her shirt over her head, leaving her clad in a worn, gray bra. Daryl froze, panic and shock dueling within him. She glanced at him through her lashes, and his confusion must have shown on his face, because she gestured at her stomach minutely.

His brows knit and he looked again. His breath hitched. Her stomach was a checkerboard of scars, some white, others pink or blue. None looked as bad as his own, but there were easily twice as many, ranging in size from the thin white lines below her breasts, to the worst one, an angry, jagged thing that cut across her ribcage to disappear on her back. He reached out a hand, intending to turn her, and she flinched. He froze again, worried he had done something wrong.

"Sorry," she said, letting out a small, sharp breath before turning her back to him. It was much the same. He looked down at his hands, bile rising in his throat. There was a rustle of clothing as Carol pulled her shirt back on. She crouched in front of him, but he did not meet her gaze. She smelled clean.

"I just wanted you to know you weren't alone. But that life is behind us now." Cautiously, she put a hand to the side of his face. Now it was his turn to flinch.

"Sorry," he huffed.

"I understand," she said quietly. "It took me a long time, too. But it got better eventually."

"How?"

"I had Sophia," she said, her voice hitching only slightly on the name. "And you have Judith. And me."

He nodded once. She rubbed his cheek with her thumb for a moment and stood.

"Dinner's ready, by the way," she said, and smiled, before ducking behind the curtain.

Daryl watched it sway as her footsteps receded.


	2. Songs

_AN: I'm going to update as frequently as possible. Which is likely going to be incredibly frequently because it's summer and I have nothing better to do. The song mentioned is John Denver's Country Roads, if anyone is interested. Reviews welcome and appreciated! _

Daryl remained seated for a long moment, considering his hands. They were still filthy, and coated in blood – now dry and sticky. He sighed and rubbed his jaw against his shoulder. He was tired. It had been a long time since he had slept more than a few hours together, but it was more than that. Caring about people was exhausting.

Daryl grunted at himself and stood. Dwelling was useless. Idleness even more so.

_Idle hands is the Devil's playthings, little brother._

Daryl sighed and shook his head to clear it. He blew out the candle with a short puff and pushed through the curtain. The group was already assembled, forming their usual loose circle around the candles one of the women had lit. He squinted in disapproval. Candles were something they couldn't afford to waste. Not with another winter of long nights on the horizon.

But he bit his tongue and pushed his way into the bathroom, scrubbing his hands clean as best he could. When he was satisfied he wouldn't be getting any dirty looks he made his way to the main room and settled at the foot of the stairs

_They've all – we've all been through a lot, _he reminded himself. Everyone handled it differently. If a few candles made a difference to some of these people, fine.

A plate appeared in front of him, and he answered Carol's smile with a nod. Her fingers rested on his shoulder, feather-light and barely noticeable, before she trotted away. His eyes followed her as she settled beside Beth, who was cradling Judith to her shoulder.

Daryl pushed his food around on his plate for a moment before shoveling it into his mouth. Beth was a natural with Judith. Motherhood had been thrust upon her, and she had risen to the task admirably; she rocked Judith easily in one arm, balancing her plate on her knee while she ate with one hand. Daryl carried his plate, now clean, forward and dumped it into the tub they used to cart dirty dishes to and from the kitchen. His eyes fell on Carol again. She was gazing at Beth and Judith. The baby's eyes were open, she stared up at Beth. The child had her moments, but for the most part she was a solemn, silent little girl.

No sooner had he finished the thought but Judith let out a wail. Beth sighed and put her fork down to lift Judith up with both hands. The child continued to wail. Beth sighed, feeling the child's diaper.

"I don't understand, I just fed her."

Carol set aside her plate, her food barely touched, and held out her arms.

"She's probably just bored. Here, give her to me."

Without thinking, Daryl stepped forward and scooped the child up. Both women blinked at him in surprise.

"Y'all eat," he muttered. Beth opened her mouth to protest, but shut it when Judith's cries stopped almost immediately. Carol just nodded, a smile pulling at her lips. Daryl scowled back at her, eliciting a giggle from the bundle in his arms.

Daryl looked down at her, and felt his expression soften in spite of himself. He hoisted his elbow up to bring her face up to his, making his way out of the circle of unfamiliar eyes.

He could practically feel the accusing stares from a few of the Woodbury residents, their eyes flicking from Daryl's back to Beth and Carol, incredulous that they would hand the infant off to him. Daryl shrugged them off, bouncing Judith in his arms. She giggled again, her eyes wide, and one of her hands swung up to grasp at the scruff on his jaw. He waggled his eyebrows at her as she moved her hands to pull at his lips. He mouthed her fingers and she squealed in delight.

He hummed to her tunelessly, snatches of songs he half-remembered from his own childhood, before his mother had died. Judith gurgled at him, her fingers leaving his face to twist in the material of his shirt. The Dixon household had never been much for music, but he had faint, faded memories of his mother swaying next to a record player, bottle of wine in one hand, cigarette in the other, beckoning to him.

He murmured the lyrics he could remember, which was about every third or fourth word. Suddenly, he heard Beth chime in from behind him.

"_All my memories, they gather 'round her._

_Miner's lady, stranger to blue water._

_Dark and dusty, painted on the sky_

_Misty taste of moonshine, teardrops in my eyes_

_Country roads, take me home,_

_To the place I belong._

_West Virginia, mountain mama,_

_Take me home, country roads."_

Her voice faltered.

"I forget what comes next," she smiled apologetically.

From beside her, Carol's voice came unexpectedly, clear and low.

"_I hear her voice, in the morning hour she calls to me_

_The radio reminds me of my home far away._

_Driving down the road I get a feeling that I should have been home yesterday, yesterday."_

Beth and Maggie both joined in, their voices echoing around the room.

"_Country roads, take me home,_

_To the place I belong._

_West Virginia, mountain mama,_

_Take me home down country roads."_

They fell silent, and there was scattered clapping amongst the rest of the group.

"Daryl, you have a nice voice," Beth called, smiling.

Daryl felt his cheeks redden and looked down at his shoes.

"I ain't got no such thing. Now quit hollerin' at me, she's almost asleep."

Beth rolled her eyes, but turned her attention back to the group. It wasn't long before the notes of another song rose out of the chatter, this time a hymn that Daryl didn't recognize. Judith was blinking sleepily at him, making soft cooing noises.

"You tryin' to talk to me, Li'l Asskicker?" Daryl murmured, touching her nose lightly. She grasped his finger in a tiny fist and pulled it into her mouth. Daryl momentarily congratulated himself for washing his hands. She clamped down on his finger and he nearly hissed in pain, before rolling his eyes at himself.

"She's teething." Carol's voice came from his elbow. Judith looked at her through heavily-lidded eyes, her gums working on his finger. "Soon your bite will be worse than your bark, won't it?"

"Not possible," Daryl grumbled. Suddenly, Judith squinted up at him and tilted her head to the side. Carol burst into laughter.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh, my goodness, she looks just like you," Carol said a little breathlessly. "You make that face about ten times a day."

He narrowed his eyes at Judith and she giggled before yawning hugely. Daryl snatched his finger away, wiping it on his shirt.

"You want me to take her?" Carol's fingers were on his shoulder again. He shook his head.

"Naw, I got 'er."

"Alright, I'll tell Rick you're putting her to bed." She squeezed his shoulder lightly and turned away.

"Sleepy, Asskicker?" She yawned again in response, her eyelids drooping lower with every breath. He lifted her up to his shoulder, where she immediately snuggled her head onto his shoulder, one pudgy hand on his neck, the other on his shoulder. If she kept growing as fast as she was, it wouldn't be long before she could get her arms around his neck.

Rick met him at the foot of the stairs.

"I'm gonna take first watch with Michonne," Rick said, scratching his neck. "Maggie and Glenn are on second, and you and Carol are on third."

"Man, Carol just had watch last night. She don't hardly sleep as it is."

Rick shrugged. "She volunteered." He lowered his voice slightly. "And until I know who I can trust from this new group, we're a little short-staffed. It's not ideal, I know. But that's why I'm doubling you up: as maybe y'all can take it in turns to get some shut eye."

"Well," Daryl replied, matching Rick's low tone, "You better decide quick who you can trust. Nights are only gonna get longer; gonna need more than three shifts real soon."

Rick sighed. "I know. I know you're right. I'll keep an eye on it." He put a hand on Judith's back and suddenly smiled widely.

"'S so funny?" Daryl asked, taken aback.

"I was just thinking that if someone had told me when I met you that you were the best babysitter this side of the Mississippi, I would never have believed them."

"Shut up," Daryl grumbled, punching Rick in the arm. The other man just laughed, and stepped aside to allow Daryl to continue up the stairs.

_Babysitter my ass._ Daryl glared at one of the Woodbury women, who quickened her pace to hurry past him.

"Hey, Daryl!" Carl jogged into view. "Judith can sleep in my room."

"Alright, kid. Lead the way."

He followed Carl to his cell, bare and chilly like all of the rest. Carl had already dragged the crib from Beth's room into his own. Daryl lowered her carefully into the nest of blankets they had scrounged together. Judith squirmed fitfully at the loss of contact, not quite opening her eyes as Carl tucked her in. Her fingers closed on the blanket and she relaxed, head lolling to the side.

Daryl ruffled Carl's hair. "G'night, kid."

"'Night, Daryl," Carl replied, patting his hair back into place.

On his way back to his own cell, he nodded at Michonne, who was pulling her jacket on. She returned the nod, strapping her blade across her chest. It would be useless up in the tower, but Daryl didn't think he'd ever seen her without it.

As he approached the end of the hallway, he saw Carol emerge from his cell, a basket balanced on her hip. She smiled at him as he approached.

"Just dropping off some laundry."

"Thanks," he replied.

"I found you a new pair of jeans. If you'll give me the ones you have on I can patch them up for you."

Daryl grunted noncommittally. The jeans were starting to come apart at the knees, but he didn't mind.

"Ones I've got are fine. You can give 'em to someone else."

She glanced at his knees with raised eyebrows, but ducked back into the cell to retrieve the pants.

"They're too long for Glenn and too small for Hershel. I guess I could see if Rick want's them. Or maybe I should save them. Once Carl starts really growing we're gonna have quite the time keeping him clothed."

"Remind me on the next run. Asskicker's gonna need clothes too."

She smiled and nodded. "I will. Get some sleep. I'll see you in a few hours."

"You get some sleep," he returned, but she brushed past him, her hand resting on his bicep for a fraction of a second as she passed. He flopped dutifully down on his bunk, and was asleep in seconds.

Hours later, he awoke with a start. Glenn was standing over him, looking alarmed. Daryl realized it was because he had was gripping Glenn's wrist and twisting it. He released him immediately.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "I ain't easy to wake up."

"No kidding," Glenn groused, rubbing his wrist. "We just got in," he said, gesturing with his head to the cell door, where Maggie stood, rubbing her arms. "Want us to get Carol for you?"

"Naw, I'll get her. Go get some rest."

Glenn nodded gratefully and tossed Daryl the binoculars. He slipped his hand into Maggie's, tugging her along behind him. She looked half-asleep already. Daryl pulled his poncho on and slung his crossbow over his shoulder before heading in the opposite direction. He stopped outside of Carol's cell, listening for movement.

"Carol?" No response. He pushed his way past the curtained entrance. Carol was indeed still asleep. He sighed and placed his crossbow gently on a chair before perching on the edge of the bed. She was curled on her side, facing away from him. Tentatively, he put a hand on her arm.

"Carol, wake up." She stirred a little. Her eyes opened and she twisted toward him, a smile unfurling lazily across her face.

"Hi," she murmured sleepily. "Five more minutes."

Daryl snorted. "C'mon, woman. Up." She groaned in response.

"Fine. Sleep."

"No, no, I'm up. I'm up," she mumbled. Daryl stood as she rolled over and put her feet on the floor.

"Can you give me a second? I don't have any pants on."

Daryl quirked a brow. _ Seriously? I've seen you without a shirt on._ He bit back on the thought and turned on his heel, ducking back into the hallway. He listened as Carol rustled around in her cell. A few minutes of tapping his foot and she emerged with a rifle over her shoulder, belting a wool sweater in place. Nights were getting cooler. He jerked his head and she followed him down the stairs and out into the chilly air.

They crossed the yard in silence; they had long since mended the fences, but Daryl kept his bow up and at the ready, his steps quick and sure. Carol trotted silently behind him, one hand on her rifle to keep it from banging against her. They reached the tower without incident and Daryl pulled open the door, ushering Carol through. She jogged ahead, taking the stairs two at a time, and he stayed close on her heels.

"Clear." The word, short, sharp, and expected traveled down to him seconds before he emerged at the top of the tower. He double-checked, his crossbow swinging left and right as Carol leaned against the railing, her rifle trained on the tree line.

"Just walkers," she murmured. Daryl grunted. The Governor was on everyone's mind. He gripped the barrel of the rifle, intending to take it from her, but she resisted.

"Sleep. I'll wake you up in a coupla hours."

"No, you won't. I'll stay awake, I've slept enough."

Daryl looked at the circles under her eyes and snorted. Carol stuck her tongue out at him.

"I'm not sleeping if you're not."

Daryl felt is brow crease; he offered no comment, but did not release his grip on the rifle. Carol put her hand over his.

"If anyone needs sleep it's you. We all rely on you, Daryl. Let me keep watch for a while."

He shook his head.

"Woman, you got a martyr complex a mile wide. I ain't trustin' you to wake me up."

"Fine." Carol smirked at him. "We'll both stay awake."

Daryl sighed, but he nodded.

"'M still takin' the rifle first."

Carol laughed and released his hand, shrugging her shoulder so the strap came free. Daryl set handed her his crossbow, and watched from the corner of his eye as she set it carefully, almost religiously, on the floor. He set the rifle carefully against his shoulder, scanning the tree line through the scope. Nothing but walkers. Carol leaned on the railing beside him, close enough that he could feel the heat coming off of her skin. He glanced sidelong at her, watching as her eyes traced the shadowy edges of the forest.

"Nothing but walkers," he said aloud. Carol relaxed visibly.

Daryl hesitated for a moment before putting his hand on her shoulder and squeezing lightly. His hand was back on the rifle before her head turned toward him. He sensed rather than saw her smile.

"You know, I'm not exaggerating," she murmured. "We do all rely on you."

He grunted.

"It's true. Without you, we would have been lost long ago." Carol leaned her head lightly on his shoulder. "Man of honor."

Daryl resisted the urge to rest his head on top of hers, and tried to ignore the brush of her hair against his neck. He couldn't help the shiver that traveled through him. He heard the smile on Carol's face when she sighed, and he pressed his eye to the rifle's scope, scanning the ever changing tree line.

"Nothing but walkers," he said again.


	3. Mothers

_AN: Many thanks for your kind words! I'm basically writing these in one go, so apologies for the typos, I will do my best to minimize them moving forward. Keep the reviews coming!_

_Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. I just play with them. Like barbies. Zombie barbies._

* * *

The watch passed without incident. By the time the sky began to lighten, Daryl and Carol were both stifling yawns. Daryl nudged her with his elbow; Carol looked up at him, her eyes glassy and red-rimmed. She shouldered the rifle as Daryl retrieved his bow, and she followed him down the stairs without comment. He paused at the door, and waited while she flung it open so that he could sweep the yard. It was empty – he knew it would be – and he relaxed. As soon as his shoulders fell, he heard Carol's feet crunch on the gravel.

He took a step toward the prison, but Carol snagged his elbow. He looked back, a question on his lips, and followed her gaze to the east, where the sky was pink.

"I used to get up every morning and watch the sunrise," Carol murmured. "Ed was never an early riser. It was the only part of the day I got to myself." She crossed her arms and rubbed them lightly.

"Merle used t' do that." Carol looked at him in surprise. "Get up early."

"I never pegged Merle for a morning person."

Daryl shrugged.

"What about you?"

"Sat with 'im sometimes. Weren't never sure what all the fuss was about."

Carol snorted, but caught her breath as the sun crested the horizon. It was delicate, a play of pastels that unfurled like tendrils and blended together. Daryl found himself holding his breath.

"S' different than I remember," he offered quietly. "Lighter."

Carol nodded. "No more smog."

The silence that fell was a comfortable one, and they stood together for a few long moments, watching the sun struggle its way upward. When the bottom edge cleared the tops of the trees, Daryl cleared his throat.

"Should get inside."

"Lead the way."

When they pushed through the door, the prison was already buzzing with voices. Maggie waved to them from her seat beside Glenn. As they approached, she indicated the table, where two loaded plates were waiting. They sat down heavily.

"Thanks," Daryl muttered before digging in.

"You both look like hell," Maggie chirped.

"You're no ray of sunshine yourself," Carol retorted. "These watches will be the death of us."

Maggie nodded in agreement. "God forbid our favorite one-eyed monster shows up. None of us are ready for a fight."

"Talked to Rick yesterday," Daryl grunted around a mouthful of food. "'S gonna start putting some of the Woodbury folks on watch."

Maggie rolled her eyes. "No doubt we'll be babysitting them."

"Rather be shot in your sleep?" Daryl asked, tilting his head.

Maggie sighed, but offered no further comment. Glenn trailed a hand up her back, scratching the hairs on the nape of her neck lightly. She shot him a smile.

Daryl looked at Carol's neck. It was freckled.

Glenn coughed, and Daryl's gaze returned to him. Glenn waggled his eyebrows. Daryl stood abruptly, snatching up his plate.

"Shut up, Glenn," he hissed, stalking away.

"I didn't say anything!" Glenn called after him, voice laced with mirth. Daryl glanced over his shoulder, Carol was looking after her him in confusion, while Maggie cuffed Glenn on the back of the head. He dropped the plate and silverware into the tub and mounted the stairs, intent on heading back to his cell to get some shut-eye. He was ten steps away when Beth's voice caught him.

"Daryl!" He turned on his heel, not bothering to ask what she wanted, and arrived at her cell, hands out expectantly.

"I'm so sorry to do this again," Beth simpered. "It's just I promised Maggie that we could talk about the wedding today-"

Daryl used all of his willpower to resist rolling his eyes.

"She's just been so fussy all day, and Rick doesn't want us leaving her with anyone from Woodbury until we've gotten to know them all a little better." Daryl nodded impatiently as Judith was placed into his waiting arms. She was indeed squirmy today, her face red and blotchy. He took the baby bag that Beth offered him and she scurried away, her sing-song "Thank you!" echoing back to him.

Judith gazed up at him, her bottom lip quivering. Daryl sighed. It seemed sleep was not on the agenda. He made his way back to his own cell, slowing his pace to an unhurried walk, bouncing Judith a little as he went.

"You ain't getting sick are you?" He muttered. As if in answer, Judith gave a tiny, tinny cough. Daryl frowned and pressed his forehead to hers. Didn't feel like a fever.

Still, he leaned over the balcony and called to Carol.

"Carol!" She was still sitting with Glenn, Maggie had disappeared, no doubt with Beth in tow. She looked up at the sound of his voice. He lifted his arms to show her a glimpse of Judith's pink blanket and jerked his head toward his cell. Carol stood and grabbed her plate, waving absently at Glenn as she walked toward the tub of dirty dishes.

Daryl didn't wait, but walked the last few steps to his cell, pushing past the curtain hanging in place of a door. He carefully set the baby bag on the floor, then tossed his crossbow up onto the top bunk, safely out of reach. Judith wasn't quite crawling yet, but better safe than sorry. He sat on the floor, legs pressed together and knees folded so that Judith could sit facing him, her back cradled against his thighs. He pressed a hand to her forehead. Maybe she was a little warm.

Carol swept into the cell and perched on the bed behind him.

"What's the problem?"

"She seem sick to you?"

Carol pressed the back of her thin hand to Judith's forehead. She frowned.

"She does feel a little warm. But it's probably nothing. Maybe just a light fever that's making her fussy."

Daryl nodded and rubbed his eyes.

"Do you want me to take her? You need to sleep."

Daryl shook his head and bit back a yawn.

"Daryl-"

"Woman, I said I'm fine," he growled. Judith hiccupped and stared up at him, wide-eyed.

Carol sighed behind him and her knee brushed against his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to nag," she said softly.

Daryl was struck suddenly by the absurd domesticity of the scene. He and Carol together, Judith staring up at them. He placed a hand on Judith's firm belly. Some far corner of his mind knew that a version of this scene could have played out in his own life. His life before.

But here he was, someone else's kid on his knee, someone else's wife at his side. The world was fucked. And he was fucked.

Daryl felt Carol's hand on the back of his neck and froze. He took a deep breath, willing the muscles of his back to unclench. Judith, sensing the tension that suddenly flooded his body, took several shuddering breaths, her face beginning to tighten. So Daryl, focused on her, cooing and tickling her gently until he earned a laugh. He smiled at her, and she blinked shyly up at him through long lashes. Carol's fingers were feather-light, barely there except to raise gooseflesh on his neck.

"When Sophia was little, I used to sing to her all the time."

Daryl was confused for a moment before he managed to wrench his mind from Carol's fingertips to recall the night before. He grunted.

"My ma used to play that song. Record player." Carol's hand was creeping further up his scalp, scratching lightly.

"I don't think I've ever heard you talk about your mother," Carol murmured.

Daryl shrugged, fighting the impulse to flinch every time her fingers found a new patch of skin. Talking was a distraction so he latched onto it.

"Weren't much to tell. She was alright. Liked music. Loved Merle. She was always trying to protect 'im. I think she was hoping I'd be a girl. Mean my old man wouldn't be so set on toughenin' me up. But she loved me alright, I think. Not like she loved Merle, but she loved me alright. But when Merle ran away, she took it real hard. Stopped gettin' out of bed. And then she burned the house down, n' her down with it." Daryl took a breath to continue and then clamped his mouth shut as he replayed his words in his mind. Carol's hand had stopped moving.

He opened his mouth to make an excuse and bolt when Carol spoke.

"My father used to hit my mother. Never laid a hand on me, though. After I married Ed, she died in a car crash. Ran right into a telephone pole. I never knew whether or not she did it on purpose."

Daryl nodded, and felt her fingers scrape across his scalp as he did. Judith hiccupped.

Daryl glanced down at her, and moved his hand from her stomach to smooth her hair down.

"Your mama loved you so much, she died for you," he said quietly. "'N' she hadn't even met you yet."

Judith gurgled at him and he felt Carol's hand slide back down to his neck. He chanced a glance over his shoulder at her, and saw her eyes shining with tears, her gaze trained on Judith.

"Yes, she did," Carol agreed. "We're three peas in a pod aren't we?"

Daryl huffed in amusement. He glanced at Carol again, and this time she met his gaze, a small smile pulling at her lips.

"You're quite a man, Daryl Dixon," she said suddenly. He felt his face flush and looked again at Judith, who giggled at him. He felt Carol's weight shift and tensed as something – _her lips_ – pressed to his temple. Daryl thought back to the last time she had kissed him, at the Greene farm. It felt like decades ago. He suddenly felt tired.

"But if you don't get some sleep, you're going to make yourself sick. Or get yourself killed," her breath was warm against his ear. He shivered.

_Jesus H. Christ, Darlina. You so strapped for pussy that some woman fuckin' breathes on you and you all riled up? Get a grip, little brother._

Carol straightened and sighed. Daryl realized belatedly that all the tension he had fought against had returned to his body.

"Really, Daryl, I'll play with her for a few hours and she'll wake you up when she's hungry."

He nodded stiffly, not trusting himself to speak. Carol slid off the bed to crouch beside him, scooping Judith up. Daryl hoisted himself up onto the lumpy mattress. He watched for a moment as Carol rooted around in the baby bag, before pulling forth a set of giant plastic keys, something Daryl had pocketed on their last run. She shook them in front of Judith's face, and the girl gurgled happily, reaching for them.

Carol shot him a glare and jerked her head.

"Sleep."

Daryl grabbed his pillow and punched it a few times before settling in.

"I think I'm rubbin' off on you, woman. Never used to be able to boss me around."

Her face softened and she shrugged at him.

"You never used to let me."


	4. Speeches and Routines

_AN: I just realized that A Bit of Fry and Laurie is on Netflix. This may slow down my updates somewhat._

* * *

When Daryl struggled awake a few hours later, it was to Judith's face, inches from his from. Carol was smiling slyly and holding the child above him; Judith was giggling and her limbs as if she was swimming. She shrieked in delight when Daryl's eyes opened and he scowled at her, which only made her laugh harder.

"Someone's hungry," Carol said, her voice thick with laughter, before she plopped Judith down onto Daryl's stomach.

"You're getting' fat little girl." But he brought his hands in front of Judith's face and she grasped his index fingers in two tiny fists. The child tugged at his hands, kicking her legs.

"Time is it?" He asked Carol.

"Not noon yet," she murmured in response. "She was fussing a few minutes ago or I wouldn't have bothered you. But she just loves her Uncle Daryl, don't you?" She tickled Judith's back and the child cooed, trying in vain to twist her head around to see Carol.

"You hungry, sweetheart?" He wiggled his fingers and Judith's grip tightened. He freed one of his hands to hold her to his chest as he sat up. Judith's hands fell to his shirt and twisted there, so he rubbed his hand across his eyes.

"She's so well-behaved for you," Carol sighed.

"Ain't got nothin' to do with me," Daryl replied, stretching as best he could with one arm wrapped around Judith. "She's a good kid."

"Right," Carol replied. "Nothing to do with you." She tossed him a bottle that she had retrieved from the baby bag, and he caught it easily.

"C'mere, darlin'," he murmured, shifting Judith so that she was cradled in the crook of his elbow and presented the bottle. Judith reached up, pulled the bottle into her mouth, and began to suckle quietly. Daryl stood pacing a slow circle as she stared up at him. As soon as he was up, Carol swooped in and straightened the blankets on his bed.

"Why'd you do that?" Daryl grumbled. "Just gonna mess 'em up in a couple of hours."

"Oh, hush. Let me feel useful." Daryl grunted. She patted the blankets a few more times before returning to the baby bag and hoisting it up onto her shoulder.

"Come on, Rick wants to make a speech." Daryl grunted again. Carol pushed aside the curtain and stepped through, holding it open behind her so that Daryl could follow.

The whole group was already assembled, sitting or standing in the main room. They made their way down the stairs. Daryl kept his eyes downcast, following Carol out of the corner of his eye. She perched beside Hershel on a bench, scooting close to the old man so that Daryl could settle beside her.

Hershel nodded at Daryl as they sat down.

"Alright, son?" Daryl nodded as Hershel smiled down at Judith, still sucking away industriously at her bottle.

"How about you, Carol?"

"I'm fine, Hershel. Beth and Maggie still off gossiping?"

Hershel nodded wearily. "It's good to see them both so excited."

Carol opened her mouth to respond, when a hush fell across the room.

Daryl glanced up to see Rick standing at the foot of the stairs, thumbs hooked in his belt loops. Daryl had come to know Rick as a man who was, for the most part, bashful and uncertain. But the man had not forgotten how to look like the cop he had been a lifetime ago. He stood now, chest out, face set. It was enough to silence the room.

Rick cleared his throat.

"Well, everybody, thank you for being here. It's a few weeks now since…well, since you all arrived. I know it's close quarters. That's the first thing I wanted to talk to y'all about. I've been talkin' it over with Hershel, our doctor here-" He nodded in Hershel's direction. "And we think we'd best clear out at least one more cellblock to let everyone spread out. Now our group here, my people, we're a pretty small bunch. We'll need some help. With that in mind, we are going to be starting mandatory gun and knife training for everyone here."

An uneasy murmur traveled through the room. Rick held up a hand and silence fell again.

"I know you all lived a certain way over at Woodbury. You lived the old life. Believe me, I understand – we all understand – the appeal of that life. But the thing is – the thing is that we can't live that life anymore. None of us. Your Governor over there, he made you feel comfortable, he made you feel safe, but he also lied to you. That's not our way here. That's not my way."

Daryl snuck a glance at Carol. She was looking at Rick with what was unmistakably pride, a small smile pulling at her lips.

"I ain't gonna lie to you all. This world we live in ain't a safe one anymore. And the way I see it, we've got to change. We've got to learn how to live in this world, and not just hide in it, if we want to have any kind of life at all. That means everyone has to learn how to protect themselves. Can't be relying on walls or fences or us here to keep you safe. You got to keep yourselves safe. And you all have to figure out where you fit in, in this life we're tryin' to build. We got those of us here who guard the walls, we got women who cook and clean, and any meat you eat here is something Daryl felled himself."

Daryl ducked his head as several gazes swiveled in his direction.

"But, point is, there's a lot more that needs to be done. There's a lot more you _can_ do."

Rick paused, regarding the crowd for a moment. He sighed.

"Does anyone here knit?" A few hands rose tentatively in the air.

"That's the sort of thing that I mean. We can get you all materials, we can get you the things you need and you can provide us with blankets, sweaters, that sort of thing. Everyone, all of you, have something to contribute. What about farmers? Any of you know anything about crops? Raising animals?"

A few more hands.

"If we want this place, this prison, to become permanent, a permanent shelter, we need to make it sustainable. We need to start teaching each other. Because if we can do that, we may actually have a fighting chance here. But the first thing, the most important thing, is that you all learn to protect yourselves. That you become responsible for your own safety. Glenn and I will divide you up into groups and take you out to start training. And if you have any skills you think might be useful, knitting or farming, or anything else, find a moment and talk to Carol. We'll see if we can get you what you need. That's – that's really all I wanted to say. Y'all can go about your day now. Much obliged."

Rick nodded in an obvious dismissal and his spell was broken. The usual clamor resumed as people turned to each other. A few shot glances toward Carol, but no one approached. She was sitting with her hands in her lap, trying, Daryl thought, to look as unassuming, as non-threatening, as possible. She was very good at it. Judith finally finished her bottle, and Daryl pulled it from her lips with a popping sound. He fished his handkerchief from his back pocket and tossed it over his shoulder, propping Judith up to burp her.

Hershel tapped his shoulder. "Let me." Daryl nodded, and waited a moment as Hershel adjusted his position on the bench before handing Judith over. He tossed the now empty bottle back into the baby bag.

He heard the sound of someone clearing his throat and turned to see Rick standing before them. Carol was still smiling, and Rick seemed unable to meet her gaze.

"I – well, I tried anyway," Rick mumbled. Carol stood and pulled Rick into a short hug.

"That was great, Rick. It was great," she said into his shoulder. He sighed, returning the hug for a moment before releasing her. Rick's eyes flickered to Daryl.

"Real good, Rick," Daryl echoed.

Rick nodded and seemed to relax.

"Did you need something, Karen?" Carol's put a hand on Rick's shoulder to turn him around as she addressed the dark-haired woman shuffling her feet behind him.

"I just wanted to – um – well, if you need any help organizing the groups, you know, for gun training, I could probably… I just mean, I know everyone from our group, and I might be able to help out. If you want." She kept glancing at Rick shyly. His sheriff's mask was back on in the blink of an eye; he smiled at her warmly, confidently.

"That would be great, Karen. Thank you. Glenn and I are trying to get things organized as soon as possible, I'm sure we could use your help. You free now?" She nodded and Rick glanced around for Glenn. The younger man waved to him from across the room, and Rick began to shoulder his way toward him, gesturing for Karen to follow.

Daryl watched them go as Carol hummed lightly beside him.

"You two go on," Hershel said, after a moment. "I'll watch Judith for a while."

"Are you sure?" Carol asked.

"I ain't going anywhere," Hershel chuckled. "Send Carl my way if you see him and the two of us will be alright."

Carol squeezed Hershel's shoulder and lifted the baby bag up onto the table, where it was within his reach.

She touched Daryl's arm lightly. "Best get started on lunch." Daryl nodded and watched her go.

* * *

Routine settled over the prison with a surprising ease. Slowly and steadily, with some resistance, the people of Woodbury came around to Rick's way of thinking. Their acceptance of weapons training gradually transformed to enthusiasm. A few of the children even approached Daryl to inquire, shyly, sometimes fearfully, about learning to use his crossbow.

He accumulated a small following of children around Carl's age. At some point, their fascination with him eclipsed their fear. Begrudgingly, he taught them what he could, starting with tracking. His best pupil, by far, was a bird-like blonde named Sara. She was quiet and quick, and in the space of a few weeks she could sneak up on anyone, including Daryl. Before long, Sara and her friends were creeping about the yard, following the meandering trails left by the other residents with reliably accuracy. Daryl watched them from beneath the shade of the catwalk, grunting responses whenever one of them ran over with a question.

The adults' mistrust of him took longer to thaw. It happened in fits and spurts, beginning with women in the kitchen thanking him whenever he stopped by the drop off his latest kill. Finally, the older men and women began to come to him with questions and concerns when they couldn't find Rick. Daryl struggled to learn their faces and remember their names. He had never been good with either.

Carol got along with everyone. She was attentive and tireless during the day, helping everyone with everything from cooking dinner to assembling guns. But she was different, Daryl realized, on watch with him. She was quiet and comfortable. He learned to read her, little by little. If the day had been hard, she would lean against him as they stood at the railing together, eyes on the horizon. He wondered if she knew that she did it.

They started to gather supplies for various Woodbury residents on runs, under Carol's advisement. Yarn for the women who knitted, cloth and needles for the ones who sewed. Gardening tools and seeds for those with a knowledge of farming; they began a concerted effort to tame the fenced in yard, under Hershel's direction. Their most recent acquisition was textbooks and workbooks from a nearby school; two women and one man who had been teachers in another life took charge of the youngest children to make sure they could, at the very least, read, write, and do some basic math.

When Daryl was young, he'd had little use for school, but he couldn't complain; it kept the little ones out from underfoot for at least a part of the day. And when Sara came to him, a workbook in one hand and perplexed expression on her face, he fully intended to walk in the opposite direction. But he somehow found himself seated at one of the cafeteria tables his head pressed to the heel of his hand as he guided her through her multiplication tables.

Daryl and Carol settled into a routine of their own. Most mornings were spent with Judith, retrieving her from Beth so the girl could spend time with her sister; sometimes Carl joined them. Daryl would hunt, or else spend an afternoon being tailed by his gang of students. As dusk crept across the yard, Carol would emerge from the prison to shepherd them all inside. She and Daryl would eat together, sometimes with Glenn and Maggie or some of the other members of their group, sometimes alone. They would sleep for a few hours after dinner, awake and make their way to the watchtower. They would watch the sun rise together. And then they would do it all again.

It was in this manner that days turned into weeks, then months.

* * *

"Maggie was looking for you today," Carol murmured quietly. They had been quiet for the first hour of their watch together. They were both wrapped up in several layers, and Carol's words hung in a cloud of mist for a moment. Fall was definitely upon them.

"What she want?"

"She didn't say," Carol replied. She smiled at him. "But I have a guess."

"What's that?"

"I think she wants you to take her and Beth on a run. For a dress."

Daryl's eyes widened and he looked over at her.

"What?"

"A wedding dress." Carol sounded incredibly amused by the idea.

"Ain't no way in hell I'm doin' that," he grumbled, shifting his weight uncomfortably. "Whole thing's a waste of time. What the hell they need to have a weddin' for? Ain't gonna change nothin'."

"I think it's nice," Carol said softly beside him. "We could all use a little distraction. You should take her."

Daryl glowered at the tree line.

"Dress shoppin'," he muttered.

Carol squeezed his shoulder. "I'll go with you if you're worried they're going to ask you to model for them. And I wouldn't exactly call it shopping. It's not like we're going to be paying for it."

He grunted in acknowledgement. They stood together in a comfortable silence for a few minutes.

"Sun's comin' up," he mumbled. Carol nodded and followed him down the stairs, the pattern of motions now second nature. Down the stairs, open the door, check the yard and stand together, waiting. The sky lightened, brightened. Carol lay her head against his shoulder.

Their moment was interrupted by the sound of the prison door clanging open.

"Speak of the devil and she doth appear," Carol said to him with a smile, as Maggie crossed the yard purposefully to stand before them.

"Daryl." Maggie eyed him, arms akimbo. "I need you to take me in to town to look for a dress. And I ain't takin' no for an answer. I'm getting married in two days and I want a dress. Now how soon can you be ready to go?"

Daryl glared at her, but he felt Carol's hand on his arm. He sighed.

"Alright, let me eat and then we can go," he muttered. "But I ain't wastin' the whole goddamn day watchin' you try on a passel of dresses that all look the same."

Maggie smiled and clapped her hands. Daryl scowled, but Maggie paid him no heed, turning on her heel to trot back to the prison.

"Beth's coming, too!" She called over her shoulder.

Carol laughed softly beside him.

"Sure you don't need back-up?" Daryl grunted in response, glancing up to where the sun was already climbing above the tree line.

"I'll be alright." Carol squeezed his arm one last time and followed Maggie's footprints to the door, Daryl close on her heels.


	5. Stars

_AN: Okay, people. Apologies for the delay in updating, this chapter is long as the Great Wall. But, things are trucking along now. I'm headed toward the first big Caryl happening in the next couple chapters. Once we get there, I will be especially in need of feedback. There are several directions I could take this story, and I would love to hear what y'all think. I'll be more specific in a note once we get there. _

_I disclaim the dead and the walking._

* * *

By the time they were back on the road, Daryl was fuming, but the girls were giggling and chattering in the back seat. The sun was low in the sky, and they had another few miles to go before they would be safely back at the prison. They had been forced to drive nearly four hours to get to a small bridal shop Beth had found in a rotting copy of the yellow pages, and after clearing the parking lot and surrounding area, Daryl had stood guard at the door, kicking his feet. Hours had passed as the girls sifted through the seemingly endless supply of fluffy, white monstrosities. His opinion had been solicited several times during the morning, and each time he shrugged and ducked his head, grumbling that Maggie looked nice in all of them.

The first day had been quiet for the most part, except for a small heard that had emerged from the forest an hour or two after noon. Eight or ten that he had scattered and then taken out. It hadn't been a real problem, just a challenge, and it was enough to cover him in blood and guts. Maggie and Beth had come running two minutes too late for any action, both only half-dressed. Once they'd seen the state of his clothes, he was forbidden from coming inside.

He hadn't seen the dress they had ultimately settled on, which suited him just fine. But by the time they had been ready to go, the day was shot, and they still had a long journey home. And then, of course, he had spotted the herd, shuffling toward them down the highway. He had time to wonder, briefly, whether the smaller group of walkers had been running from the larger one, as he barricaded the door to the shop and silenced the two girls with a dark look. Daryl had been hoping they'd just pass by, but the walkers lingered in the open space of the strip mall. So they'd settled in for the night, tensely silent as they took it in turns to stay awake and listen to the shuffling and moaning outside the windows. The night, morning, and afternoon ticked by slowly; Daryl said a half-hearted prayer to the wind that someone – probably Carol – had packed them a backpack of food and supplies. As dusk threatened, the noise lowered, then disappeared almost entirely.

Maggie had been nearly beside herself as they finally climbed into the car. They'd lost a whole day; they were alive, but they'd lost a whole day of _wedding planning. _ He was ready for this whole business to be over and done with. Everyone was pitching in to decorate the prison tomorrow, and there would be a ceremony and a party. Daryl had to admit he was looking forward to the party. Rumors were going around the prison that there would be alcohol, rumors that Glenn had confirmed for Carol with a wink.

That, Daryl could get behind. It felt like years – it might actually have _been_ years – since he'd had a real drink.

"I can't believe you're getting married," Beth squealed in the back, for the hundredth time.

"Neither can I," Maggie replied. The two of them were like a broken record. "Can't say as I ever thought I'd be gettin' married in a prison, though."

"Daryl, were you ever married?" Beth's head appeared beside the driver's seat. Daryl shot her a look and scoffed.

"Ain't never been. Ain't never cared to be."

"What about Merle?" Beth seemed to regret the question as soon as she uttered it. In the uncomfortable silence that followed, Merle's name hung in the air like a storm cloud. Daryl barely resisted rolling his eyes. Ever since Merle died, everyone had been avoiding talking about him; if they mentioned him accidentally, they would glance at Daryl furtively and then down at their hands.

"Was, once. Got some girl knocked up and they got hitched. Didn't change Merle's ways none though. He got locked up – must've been the third time – and she took off with the kid. Never saw either of 'em again. Never looked too hard neither."

"Merle had a _baby_?" Maggie sounded incredulous. Daryl grunted. Beth opened her mouth to ask something else, but seemed to think better of it. She sat back and Daryl focused on the road again.

He hadn't thought about Jean or her daughter in a long time. Daryl was only twelve when they'd gotten married – Merle was twenty-two. Their ma had been dead for years. Daryl was nine when his brother left home; Merle got locked up the first time not a month after the fire. It was a short sentence, one-hundred-twenty days for his second DUI. The second time, it was a year for possession, and his cellmate had been a drug dealer named Frank. They were fast friends, and after they got out Frank introduced Merle to his little sister, Jean. They hated each other immediately, but they managed to put aside their differences long enough to jump into bed together. Frank had tried his best to skin Merle when Jean turned up pregnant. He'd been the one who insisted on the wedding, and afterwards he and Merle went into business together, cooking meth out of Frank's apartment. Frank had died in the resulting explosion, Merle had gotten three years for possession with intent to sell, and Jean had taken off with her bratty girl in tow. Daryl wondered where they were now. Dead or walking.

The sun was dipping below the horizon now, and Daryl pressed his foot a little more firmly to the accelerator. They were still about half an hour out, and being on the road after dark was never a walk in the park.

"We close, Daryl?" Maggie's voice drifted forward, breaking the silence and Daryl's train of thought.

"Couple more miles."

Maggie hummed in response. Silence settled in again. Daryl was thankful. He was exhausted; he hadn't slept well the night before last, and he's missed his opportunity to sleep after breakfast; he'd pretended to sleep in the bridal shop, rested his eyes, but he wasn't confident enough in either of the Greene girls to relax completely. Those walkers he'd fought in the afternoon had taken more out of him than he cared to admit, and a dull ache was worming its way behind his eyes. Two more turns and they would be on the prison road. He drummed his hands on the steering wheel and chanced a glance in the rearview mirror. Beth was asleep, her head on Maggie's shoulder and one hand on the box they'd stuffed the dress into. Daryl reminded himself how young she was. After her decision not to opt out on the Greene farm, and the way she'd stepped up to care for Judith, she'd been catapulted into adulthood. It was easy to forget that she wasn't even eighteen. Maggie was looking out the window, but her gaze was far away.

Daryl flipped on the headlights just as they reached the gravel drive that led to the prison. Light pollution was a thing of the past, and hundreds of stars gleamed to life as soon as the sun disappeared. His thoughts drifted unbidden to Sara; she'd been pestering him to teach her how to track at night. Well, pestering was perhaps too strong a word, she'd asked. _Twice_. For Sara, that was pestering.

_Good a night as any to show 'em how._

_You ain't no schoolteacher, little brother._

Daryl flinched as Merle's voice echoed in his head, clear as if he was sitting next to him.

_First you babysittin' and now you got your own little kindergarten class. You like some damn mother hen._

He shook his head sharply.

"Don' know nothin' about it," he grumbled, to quiet the voice in his ear.

"You say somethin', Daryl?"

He was saved from having to explain as the prison came into view.

"We're here," he said instead. They rounded the last bend and Daryl watched the flurry of movement at the gates with relief. They were later than he'd said they'd be, and he'd been worried that no one would be waiting. Glenn and Tyreese were at the first fence, drawing the walkers away from the gate that Carl was waiting to pull open. Daryl had to admit, he liked Tyreese; the man was fair-minded, had an air of authority and a calming affect those around him. He was a lot like Rick that way. Daryl, on the other hand, made people uneasy. They cruised through the gate and Carl pulled it shut behind as Glenn and Tyreese returned to the gate. The three of them jogged behind the car together, with Tyreese and Glenn careful to keep Carl between them. They reached the second gate – which was sitting open – without incident and Daryl quickly killed the engine and jumped out of the car to slide the gate shut after Glenn ran through. The yard was safe enough, but they maintained certain protocols – at Rick's insistence. The routine was good for everyone.

"Jesus, are you alright? Where's Maggie?" Glenn's voice was laced with panic as he took in Daryl's bloodstained clothes.

"She's in the back. S'just walker blood, don' get your panties in a twist."

Daryl gripped the hand Tyreese offered him, and nodded to Glenn, who barely returned the gesture as he wrenched the car door open to inspect his fiancée.

"When you didn't come back last night we thought you might've run into trouble," Tyreese said. "Sure looks like you did."

"Naw. Girls just took their sweet time. Had to take out a couple of geeks 'round midday. Nothin' I couldn't handle. Then we had to wait out a herd. Left first chance we got." Tyreese nodded and then held up a hand to someone behind Daryl, who ruffled Carl's hair as he turned. The boy grumbled and patted it down, but Daryl paid him no mind as he watched Carol emerge from the south tower. She looked as tired as he felt, and he watched a look of concern slide off her face as she offered him a smile and a wave. He returned the wave, then walked around to the passenger door to retrieve his bow, bag, and poncho. Maggie and Beth were smiling and chatting again, playing keep-away as Glenn tried to snatch the box from them, grinning like an idiot. The three of them made their way back toward the prison doors, Carl close behind, his expression unreadable.

That kid was trouble in the making. He got on well enough with Daryl, probably because he treated Carl like an adult, instead of like he was made of glass. But he was still just a kid. He needed to learn a little respect, figure out that being an adult didn't mean getting to do whatever you pleased every minute of the day. Daryl was not the one to teach him that lesson; he had the most freedom and influence over Rick of anyone. He was sure that, in Carl's eyes, he didn't answer to anyone.

He sensed Carol at his back and turned toward her, then nearly dropped his gear when she threw her arms around his neck.

"Scared me half to death," she hissed into his shoulder. "Suppose' to be back yesterday. Nearly worried myself sick."

Daryl wrapped an arm gingerly around her waist, trying to hide his shock as he felt her hands tremble where they were pressed into his neck.

"I'm alright," he mumbled. "I'm alright. Girl's gotta have her fairytale weddin' right?"

Carol laughed a little and then took a deep, shuddering breath before sliding out of his grip, wiping her eyes quickly. She grimaced when she looked down at her clothes, covered in gore where she had pressed against him. She looked at him and laughed again.

"Dinner's on the table." Tyreese's voice came rumbling from the front of the car. "And then y'all can get on to bed. Michonne and I are taking third watch." He chuckled when they both looked at him suspiciously, and held up his hands. "Rick's orders. Guess he's decided I'm trustworthy."

Daryl nodded and rubbed his forehead. A real night's sleep sounded like paradise. He shut the car door and followed Tyreese and Carol toward the prison.

Dinner was in full swing, the cafeteria loud and crowded. Daryl dropped his pack wearily at Glenn and Maggie's table, and took a step toward the smell of food, but was stopped by Carol's hand on his arm.

"I'll get it," she said quietly. "You sit."

He didn't protest, and when she returned a few minutes later with two overflowing plates, he dug in without a word. She ate silently and delicately beside him, back straight and elbows off the table. Daryl, on the other hand, sat hunched over his plate, both arms encircling his food as he shoveled it into his mouth as quickly as he could manage without choking.

"You know what I miss?" Carol said suddenly. "Cellphones."

Daryl snorted, and Glenn and Maggie looked perplexed.

"I'm serious," she continued. "I always hated that thing while I had it. But I miss being able to just call someone anytime, anywhere to check up on them."

Glenn stared at Carol for a moment. He looked at Maggie out of the corner of his eyes, then nodded emphatically. A moment of understanding passed between them.

"I ain't never had a cellphone," Daryl chimed in. Maggie, Glenn, and Carol all turned to stare at him.

"You didn't have a cellphone?" Glenn sounded incredulous.

"Never had no use for one. Don't need a cellphone ringin' when I'm tryin' to hunt." They continued to stare at him in astonishment, and Daryl was forced to remember how different he had once been from these people. Truth was he'd never have been able to afford a cellphone, even if he had wanted one.

Survival was a great equalizer. He'd spent his whole life just surviving; this new world hadn't been as great an adjustment for him as it had for some of the others. Though of course, the dead rising up had been an adjustment for everyone.

Daryl was startled from his thoughts by the slam of Carl's tray onto the table. Steam was practically pouring from the boy's ears, but he offered them no word of explanation as he glowered down at his food. Daryl surveyed the room and spotted Rick standing beside a table with Karen, their heads close together as they traced lines along the table top with their fingers – probably looking at a map. As Daryl watched, Rick murmured something to the woman, who threw her head back and barked a laugh, her hand landing casually on Rick's chest. Daryl didn't begrudge Rick a little flirtation – Christ knows the man deserved it, especially since he was sure that Rick himself wasn't ready for more than that – but he understood the kid's anger. As far as Carl was concerned, it was always going to be too soon for Rick's eyes to wander.

"Hey," Daryl said, punching Carl's arm lightly. The boy didn't respond, or even look at him. "I got your sister somethin' today." Daryl rooted through his rucksack for a moment before triumphantly pulling forth a plush, white dog. The thing had been on one of the shelves in the bridal shop, modeling a doggie tuxedo. Daryl had left the tuxedo behind, but on a whim he'd crammed the stuffed animal into his bag. Judith had virtually no proper toys.

"You wanna give it to 'er?" Daryl asked, offering up his prize. Carl still refused to speak, his eyes on his plate, but he snatched the animal from Daryl's grip. He released it and swallowed a chuckle; if there was anything that got this kid's hackles up, it was thinking he was being laughed at.

They finished their dinners in silence; all the adults kept one eye trained on Carl for the duration of the meal. Maggie gathered up all their plates, waving away Carol's offer to help. Daryl allowed himself to relax for a moment, sated and sleepy, Carol's thigh pressed lightly against his. He looked up when Glenn tapped his fingers against Daryl's and gestured behind him. Daryl turned and met Sara's gaze. She stood with her hands clasped together, just looking at him. She opened her mouth to speak, but Daryl beat her to it.

"Alright, alright. At the door in five."

She smiled but quickly covered it with a scowl. It was almost a perfect imitation of his own, he knew, and he reached out to swat her away; she was too quick for him and scampered off, no doubt to round up the rest of the kids.

"You need to sleep," Carol said in his ear.

"I'm alright." He was beginning to feel like a broken record himself. "Won't take more'n half an hour."

Carol sighed, but nodded. She put a hand on his shoulder to push herself up from the bench.

"I'll put these upstairs for you," Carol said, gathering up his gear. He offered no comment; he'd learned long ago that she wouldn't pay him any mind. Instead he stretched and swatted Carl on the shoulder.

"Come on, boy. Let's find your sister." Carl nodded sullenly and rose. They strolled across the room together to where Judith was balanced on Hershel's knee, gurgling happily. Hershel nodded his greeting to both of them. Carl paused, looking a little awkward, still scowling.

"Go on, now," Daryl nudged him. "Play nice." Carl sighed and shook his shoulders a little. When he looked up, he had schooled his face into a smile. Daryl was proud of him, even if it looked a little forced. Carl held up the toy in front of his sister's face and she gave a tiny gasp, eyes wide. Her eyes darted to Carl's face, then to Daryl's, and back to the dog. Carl wiggled it in front of her and her eyes opened even wider. Carl looked at Daryl, perplexed.

"She don' know what it is," he mused out loud. "She ain't never seen a stuffed animal before. Ain't never seen a real dog neither, for that matter." Carl raised his eyebrows and turned back to his sister. He gave the toy another wiggle. "You gotta show her it's alright. Ain't gonna hurt her."

Carl flushed red and glanced around furtively before pressing his face to the dog's. He kissed the toy and made a face at Judith. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but stuck out a hand. Carl pushed the dog's nose into it and she giggled. Carl smiled, a genuine smile this time, and continued to make kissing noises as he bumped the dog's snout into her until Judith was squealing with delight. Daryl put a hand on his shoulder.

"You comin' out to the yard?" Carl nodded and Hershel took the dog from his hand. They crossed the slowly emptying cafeteria in silence.

When they pushed through the door, Daryl stopped dead in his tracks. The group waiting for him was much larger than usual; at a glance he thought it might have been every kid living in the prison, about twenty, all told. Carol was standing just outside the door, turned when she heard to door open.

"What's this?" He asked gruffly. She shrugged.

"I thought all the kids should hear. Even the little ones should know how to find their way, if they ever get lost."

Daryl looked at her for a long moment, trying to read her expression. He knew she was thinking of Sophia. But her eyes were clear and guileless. He rubbed his neck and stepped forward. Sara appeared by his side like a little ghost.

"Alright, y'all. Gather up." He crouched and the kids who knew him followed suit. The younger kids, eyes a blend of fear and curiosity, only hesitated for a moment before imitating them. He cleared his throat and considered for a moment.

"Now, all y'all know better than to wander off on your own. But I'm gonna tell you how to find your way with the stars, case you ever get lost. Most all the stars move, they rise and set like the sun, 'cept one. Anybody know which?"

"North star," he heard Carl say at his elbow. He nodded in approval.

"North star," he echoed. "And it's real easy to find." He pivoted on the balls of his feet and extended an arm up toward the sky. "Two dippers. Big dipper." He traced it with his finger. "Little dipper." He repeated his movement. "Y'all see 'em? Speak up if you don't." A little boy, maybe six, put a timid hand in the air. He had a mop of blond curls and a face like a china doll. "C'mere, then." The boy stared at him in alarm, and Daryl watched as Sara darted forward and poked him in the arm. He took a couple of steps, and when he was close enough Daryl snagged his collar, ignoring the boy's squeak of alarm. He tucked the boy's head under his chin and pointed at the sky.

"Look where I'm pointin'. Call 'em dippers 'cause they look like sorta big spoons." He traced the outlines of both constellations twice more before the boy gave another squeak, this time of recognition. He released him and the boy stepped back.

"I'm Liam," the boy stated. Daryl nodded.

"Daryl. Anybody else need help?" He waited for a moment, and was met with silence. He cleared his throat. "Now, if you ever get lost, you find them dippers. Find the little one. There's four stars make up the box, three make up the handle. All the way at the end of that handle, third star, that's what we call the North Star. That star's always in the same spot. It don't look like it, account of how the other stars move around it, but it stays put. It's always north of you, no matter where you are."

"Why?" A dark skinned little girl looked up at him inquisitively.

"Just is." The girl did not seem satisfied by this.

"North ain't up in the sky," she said smartly. Daryl felt his face twist into a frown.

Carol came to the rescue from behind him.

"Alanna," she said, catching the girl's attention. "Did you learn in school about planets?" The girl nodded with a hint of pride, arms crossing over her chest.

_Smart alec._ Carol seemed unperturbed.

"So, you probably learned that the earth is rotating, right?" Another nod. "Well, come here, I'll show you what I mean." The girl came forward and Daryl barely contained a snort of laughter. She looked like she'd been called on to be a magician's assistant at a birthday party. Carol smiled at her. "Okay, everybody pay attention." Daryl watched her with interest.

Carol put her left hand in the air, hovering over the little girl's braids. She extended her right hand so that it was next to the girl's shoulder.

"Okay, Alanna. Now tell me where my hands are." The little girl sighed at the simplicity of this exercise.

"One's over top of my head. Other one is by my left shoulder."

"Good." Carol smiled again, patiently. "Now, will you turn around for me, 'til I tell you to stop." The girl turned, and Daryl saw what Carol was going for.

"Okay, stop," Carol said, when the girl had turned halfway around. "Now where are my hands?"

"They didn't move," the girl said with exasperation.

"Humor me."

"One's on top of my head. Other one is…by my right shoulder." The girl now sounded like she understood. Carol nodded and addressed the rest of the children.

"So, imagine that Alanna is the earth, where we are. And my hand," she wiggled the fingers of her left hand, "is the North Star. Because she's moving, things in the sky around her will look like they're moving too. But because the North Star is right on top of her, it's always gonna look like it's in the same place. Questions?" She was met silence. "Okay, thank you Alanna." She gave the girl a gentle pat, and pushed her back toward the group. Carol looked at him, and the children followed her example. He nodded to her gratefully.

"Alright, now. Only two other things you got to remember. When they built this prison, they put it out away from most everything on purpose. We got woods all around. So, if you're ever lost, you pay attention t' what's around you. You think you know what direction you were going when you left, you try your best to find your way on back here. You get scared, you climb a tree. If you don't know what direction you should be goin', you find a house or somewhere else safe and hole up. Whether you up a tree or in a house, you leave us a sign – tie somethin' on the door, write a message if you got time – and you stay put, 'cause we gonna come find you. But if you runnin' all over town, 's gonna take us twice as long." Daryl surveyed the group. They stared back at him solemnly.

"Now one more thing, then you're all goin' to bed. If it's cloudy 'n' you can't see any stars, then you got to use the trees to figure what direction you're headed. You find you're self a nice, straight, tall tree that's got lots of space 'round it. You put one hand on either side of the trunk, and feel which side is drier. The dry side, that'll be pointin' south. If you can find three trees that got a dry side and a damp side, and all three point in the same direction, 's probably the right way." They took his word for it this time. "Right. Tomorrow night's the party, so night after next we'll come out here again and see what y'all remember." He stood and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Bedtime."

Carol helped him shepherd them all back through the door; he closed it firmly as he watched them scatter in all directions. Except for Sara, who was looking up at him with wide eyes. He crouched down in front of her, tapped her cheek lightly with his finger.

"Go along. Ain't finished yet." She shrugged, but put her hands seriously on his shoulders.

"We were all very worried about you," her voice was small but solemn. She seldom spoke, but whenever she did, Daryl wondered where she had come from. She had no people among the Woodbury group, and no one could seem to remember when or with whom she'd arrived in the town. And to top it off she had a Yankee accent. "You should come home when you say you will," she told him sternly. She threw her arms around his neck. He patted her back gingerly, then reached up to pull her face back from his shoulder. He touched their foreheads together and gave her a smile.

"First Carol, now you. 'M gone for a few hours and all my women gone crazy. I been away longer than this before."

The child's expression remained serious as she poked him in the chest.

"You've been away longer. But you've never not been back when you said you'd be. We waited up in the tower last night. I tried to stay awake, but I couldn't. Carol did though."

Daryl's brows knit.

"Carol stayed up _all night_?" He said grimly.

"We were _worried _about you," Sara returned. "You _said_ you would be back _yesterday_. And if you _die_ before you finish my bow I'm going to be so _mad_."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Daryl grumbled. He glanced around, but didn't see Carol nearby. "C'mere." He grabbed her around the waist and tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of corn. She just bent her legs so he could hook an arm behind her knees and hung limply against his back as he crossed the room. They'd converted the rec room to a dormitory for the kids who didn't have adults to look after them, so he deposited her there.

"I'll try not to worry you no more. Alright? I don't aim to be dyin' anytime soon."

She nodded once and he tousled her hair before shoving her in the direction of the door. She padded off to bed without a fuss.

Daryl turned wearily and headed back the way he had come, mounting the stairs to get to his cell. Their numbers had been tripled by the arrival of the Woodbury group, and sleeping on the perch had become impossible, what with people coming and going at all hours of the day and night. So he had reluctantly, grumblingly, moved his things into a cell, as far from the hubbub as he could manage.

Anger and exhaustion dueled within him as he pushed through the curtain into his cell. Carol waiting up all night was bad enough, but taking Sarah with her was damn irresponsible.

_What you talkin' 'bout, little brother? You ain't said no to either one o' them bitches the whole time you known 'em._

"Your women, huh?" He jumped at the sound of Carol's voice and spun around. She released the curtain and let it drop behind her, wearing boxer shorts and an oversized white t-shirt, two things the prison supply rooms had in great abundance. Daryl ignored her comment.

"What're you doin' here? Should be asleep."

"Couldn't sleep," she said, shrugging her shoulders. She ducked her head, and Daryl looked at her curiously. He suddenly placed the expression. She was _embarrassed_.

"I wanted to bring this back." Daryl blinked at the blanket she held out to him. His blanket, an afghan he'd picked up at one of the houses they'd raided. "I had it up in the tower last night."

He glared at her.

"Yeah, I heard about that. The hell were you thinkin'? Lettin' Sarah stay up 'til God knows when for no reason at all." He snatched the blanket from her and tossed it on his cot.

"We were both worried about you."

"So I keep hearin'. You can't stay up 'til all hours and forget to feed yourself 'cause I'm late comin' home. Don't need to be worryin' about that, on top of everythin' else. Ain't you got any sense in that head of yours?"

Carol glared at him.

"I'll do whatever I damn well please." Daryl's eyebrows shot up when the curse escaped her lips. "You are not going to make me feel guilty for caring about you. Christ, Daryl. Stop fussing."

Silence stretched between them for a moment. Daryl didn't know what to say. Carol sighed, her anger melting into exhaustion.

"Sorry," she breathed, rubbing her forehead with the back of one hand. "I didn't mean to snap at you. I'm tired." She shot him a smile. "And, c'mon, have you ever tried telling that girl what to do? I sent her to bed ten times, and every time she would just sneak up again."

Daryl huffed. He'd figured as much.

"You just – you always make a point to be back when you say you will. And you were supposed to be back by dinnertime yesterday. I had almost convinced Rick to send out a search when you came rolling up."

"I can take care of myself. And them two girls, if I have to." Carol rolled her eyes.

"I was just worried. I'm allowed to be worried about you; that doesn't have to be an insult. That's not what I meant and you know it."

"I don't know nothin'," he grumbled.

"I'm beginning to sense that," she said, amusement cutting through her irritation. Silence stretched again, as Daryl tried to decide whether or not to be insulted.

"Why d'you come in here, anyhow?"

Carol sighed again. For a moment, she looked distinctly uncomfortable; the expression disappeared and she took two steps forward, closing the distance between them before he had time to think of backing away. She put her hand on his chest, just over his heart. He didn't flinch.

"I guess I just wanted to say that I'm really, really glad you're back. I worry about you when you're gone. But I'm glad you're all in one piece. Honestly, I don't know what I would do without you."

Daryl stared at her. He knew he probably looked like an idiot and his mind raced as he tried desperately to think of something – _anything_ – to say that would dispel the tension between them. Instead, Carol took another tiny step forward, leaving no more than an inch between them. She tilted her face up to him, eyes locked on his.

_Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit._

"And I wanted to give you back your blanket."

Daryl swallowed.

"Don' need to worry about me," he whispered.

"But I do," she replied, matching his hushed tone.

For the hundred-thousandth time in his life, Daryl cursed his tongue, which was now tying itself into a firm knot behind his lips. He cursed his hands, usually so steady, now shaking enough that he didn't dare touch her. And he cursed his heart, beating frantically in his chest, beating frantically against her hand, in its best imitation of sheer panic.

Carol leaned toward him experimentally. His alarm must have shown on his face or in his eyes, because her lips landed on his cheek. She lingered for a heartbeat, the skin of her cheek pressed to his rough stubble. She pulled back, but only a little.

"We should both get some sleep. It's going to be a long day tomorrow."

Daryl could literally feel her breath against his lips.

"I'm glad you're back," she murmured. He nodded.

"I always come back, woman," he muttered. His voice sounded hoarse, even to his own ears. She was too close to him, with her expectations and her blue eyes.

She pressed her fingers a little more firmly against his chest, then turned and swept out of the cell. Daryl listened to her footsteps receding as he struggled to control his breathing. He fought against the haze already overtaking his thoughts; now that Carol was gone, the adrenaline that had kept his eyes wide as she spoke was plummeting, and taking him down with it. His brain could only manage half-thoughts, jumbled together, as he threw himself down onto his cot. But one stood out.

_You should have kissed her. Dumbass._


End file.
